Pen Pal
by yurixwolfram
Summary: Sherlock, being as annoying as he is, never finds a flatmate and lives alone in 221B Baker Street. One day, he comes across an interesting ad for the Royal Mail in the newspaper. John Watson, an army doctor stationed in Afghanistan, finds a pen pal and friend in Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

Note: The italicised text will be letters from Sherlock.  
The underlined text will be letters from John.

_

It was another boring day in 221B Baker Street. The curtains were closed and a tall and lanky consulting detective was rotting of boredom on the sofa. He looked to the side and saw the newspaper that Mrs. Hudson left on the coffee table. He reached for the paper and skimmed through the wonderful news of happy celebrations going on in London. "Boring," he mumbled. Why couldn't there be more murders and crimes on the papers? They never liked to go into detail on _those_ articles.

A few pages into the paper, something caught Sherlock's eye. It was an ad. It wasn't very eye-catching, mind you. It took up half a page and was just a plain, black and white page with a soldier's picture. The ad read:

"Bring back pen pals! Write to a brave soldier stationed somewhere around the world!  
General information:

- Your pen pal will be a member of the British Armed Forces that is stationed anywhere around the world.

- Visit www. .uk to receive a random post box number to send your mail to."

Sherlock sat up and reached for his laptop and entered the site's address. The site was the same as the ad. Plain. Boring. That didn't stop Sherlock from clicking the "Get your post box number" button though.

Once the page loaded, he was faced with a post box number. Despite his curiosity, he decided not to search where in the world that number could be. He stood up and looked around the flat for a blank piece of paper.

_Hello, random soldier— _

_I would say man, but seeing as the number of females who have joined the service has increased over the years, I'd rather wait for a response __if one does come __than deduce with no information __well I wouldn't say "no information"__ on who might be reading this letter. I would like to inform you that I find this to be neither exciting nor "fun." I was merely bored and found the opportunity… fascinating. Never know what one could learn from you. Oh look, bored already. I do hope someone responds quickly. I do hate the sluggish post system and would prefer to text. Seeing as that is costly in this situation. This would have to do. _

_– S. Holmes._

Sherlock folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. He scribbled the P.O. box number on the envelope and left it for Mrs. Hudson to find, and hopefully, add to her list of things to do. He was already bothered enough to write the letter. God forbid if he had to send it as well.

A/N: And there we go! Mostly inspired by the fact that I love giving (and receiving!) mail.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Had to post this earlier than I originally planned due to the problems I've been having on another site.

Captain John Watson. Army doctor for the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. He was stationed in Afghanistan. He had a year left there when his superior notified them that the Royal Mail came up with a new tactic to bring costumers back to sending letters. In a few days' time, they would be receiving letters from people in Great Britain – "back at home," they would call it. It was their choice whether they wanted to send a letter back or not. They will neither be obliged nor charged to send a response. This lightened the spirits of the soldiers very much.

It was almost a week before letters started coming in. Everyone was clambering at one another to get a letter. No matter how many times they would receive a letter from a family member, the feeling was very different when you get mail from someone you never met.

"Oi, Watson!" someone yelled. "The post from that new Royal Mail program came in. You coming?"

"I'll just get whatever's left, Murray. If there ain't anymore left, I don't really mind." John said as he stretched his aching muscles.

"Suit yourself! I heard Jones already got one with a hot bird's picture in it!" Bill said excitedly.

"That's nice, Bill. You should go on then! Wouldn't want all the good ones to be taken." John said before returning to his book. It was the fourth time that he's read it but he didn't really expect to stay so long in Afghanistan.

Hours later, an opened letter was dumped in front of John.

"What's this then?" he asked and took the letter.

"No one wanted it. Sounds like a complete smart arse if you ask me. Thought maybe you should see for yourself before I dump it in the bin." Bill said.

John looked at the letter. The envelope was long gone and rips and tears here and there suggested that there was one heck of a fight for the letters at the hall.

He opened the letter and began to read. Bill Murray was shocked. Instead of the scowl that he saw on most of the other soldiers faces, John began to smirk.

"Huh, does seem like a smart arse." John said with a giggle.

"See? Give it here" Bill said and extended his arm towards the letter.

"What? Why?" John said and moved the letter further from Bill's reach.

"I was going to bin it, remember? Don't tell me you're actually going to reply!"

"I think I will" John smiled and jumped up from his seat to find a pen and paper.

"Oh, and Bill," John said and turned towards him. "Where's the envelope? Can't send this without an address."

"Oh," Bill said as he returned to his senses. "Yeah, here" he said and slowly handed the torn envelope. It would be difficult to read the address now but he was pretty sure he could figure it out.

"John?" Bill said as John was exciting the room. "You sure?"

"'Course I am. See you later, Bill." John replied with a smile.

– 

Good day! Smart of you not to assume genders. I have worked with many great women here, but alas, I am a man. Sorry to disappoint. Name's John Watson. If you haven't already found out, the P.O. box you sent this to is in Afghanistan. So, let's start with the basics then, shall we? I can see that you live in the London area. What do you do? Can't say I have a lot to go on from your letter. Hoping I'm not boring you too much already. First time doing this whole "pen pal" thing. Is it your first time too?

John Watson

John frowned at his letter. It was short but what could he say to someone he hasn't met before? As much as he'd like to deny it. He was excited to get a response.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks. Two excruciatingly long weeks since his last case with Lestrade. Saying that Sherlock Holmes was bored was the biggest understatement of the century. He walked into the main room and found that Mrs. Hudson had left the mail on his table. How lovely of her.

At a glance, Sherlock deduced them to be another pile of bills and fliers. At a second glance, though, he noticed an envelope that was slightly messier than the others. It couldn't have been type-written. Interesting.

He walked to the table and moved the pile of bills to a corner while he examined the mysterious letter. "P.O. box -…" he read. It hit him. He would never forget a number so easily.

He opened the letter and out fell a piece of paper. It looked like it had been torn from an old notebook.

He unfolded the letter and started reading. The handwriting was neat. _He_, as Sherlock just found out, had steady hands then. He finished reading the letter, still bored but, a tad bit interested in this "John Watson" fellow.

He stood from his chair and reached for a new sheet of paper.

_John Watson – _

_Well, isn't that interesting. Afghanistan you say? I must admit that I did not expect my letter to reach so far. _

_Also, your question is very vague. "What do you do?" I do many things. I play __occasionally__ sleep and eat. I play the violin and, right now, I am currently writing this letter. What, if I may ask, are you doing in Afghanistan? Rather, what position do you hold? I would assume you were a doctor due to your stable hands but, seeing as the entire military is trained to have stable hands, I have, once again, little to go on. _

_Seeing as I've said in my past letter that I "prefer to text," then, yes, this is my first time having a "pen pal."_

_This was interesting.__ I am still bored. _

_– S. Holmes._

Sherlock looked at his letter once and folded it. He looked around the table for an envelope and decided to use the envelope that one of the fliers came in. Not like he cared anyway.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! It's been very hectic in uni lately and I've struggling to find time to write this. I hope you enjoyed :)


	4. Chapter 4

After finishing a rather tiring shift, John was finally replaced by Smith and left to take a shower. Before heading for the showers, however, he passed the main room. That was where the incoming letters were placed.

It was strange. Ever since he'd sent the letter to 'S. Holmes,' he'd been finding time to pass by and check for a reply. He never used to care. All he'd get were letters from Harry, his sister. He never really did look forward to those. She barely wrote. How could she when she was barely ever sober?

"Got anything for me, mate?" John said as he headed for a man sorting several envelopes.

"Captain Watson, let's see…" the man replied as he sifted through the letters. "Oh, one here!" he said as he handed John the letter.

"Thank you!" John said and walked towards the barracks.

After showering, John returned to the barracks and found Bill lying on one of the other beds.

"Just got off duty?" John asked.

"Yup" he asked quickly.

"What's that?" John asked. Bill was smiling at the letter he was reading. Bill didn't reply.

When John reached his bunk, he noticed that his letter was missing from under his pillow.

"Bill! Is that mine?!" John said and saw the opened envelope on Bill's side.

"You've found yourself one clever bloke, Watson." Bill said and handed John the letter and John snatched it from his hands.

"Why are you reading my letters?! What if it was personal?" John said.

"Personal? The second letter? Hardly." Bill said and started laughing. "Maybe I'd stop reading them once you guys get a little… _personal_. I'd rather not know those things about you."

"Bill!" John said. Wait, was he blushing? Definitely not. "For the nth time, I AM NOT GAY!"

"Mmhmm." Bill just said with a smirk. "Gonna grab dinner. Have fun!" Bill said and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Shut it!" John said and threw a pillow at him as he ran out of the room.

S. Holmes – 

Violin? How classy! I would have loved to learn the violin.

What do you mean you 'occasionally' eat and sleep?! (I'm not blind, you know. I can see behind your swiggles)

You seriously got all that from my handwriting? That's.. brilliant! How do you do that? Now, I really must know 'your work.' You were very close! I'm an army doctor here. Help a lot with first aid and major injuries. Hard to do, I must say. What with all the sand going all over the place. (And as a doctor, I must say that you eat and sleep REGULARLY.)

Oh you live in London right? How is it there this time of year? I do miss it. I wish to settle there once I return.

Unlike you, I see no shame in admitting that I do find this whole 'pen pal' thing, very exciting. It livens up my time here a bit. I don't always get letters from home, you know.

Eagerly awaiting for your reply, 

John Watson

A/N: Two chapters for today because I feel really bad about not posting.


	5. Chapter 5

_2 months later_

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson said as she walked up the stairs to 221B.

"Sherlock, what are these letters you keep getting from… Afghanistan? Do you have relatives there? So sweet of them to write so often." Mrs. Hudson said with a dreamy look on her face.

"No, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said and took the letters from her. "All my relatives are perfectly happy here in Europe."

"Then what are all these letter? You know, I would never have noticed if you'd just get your own mail, young man."

"They're from John." Sherlock said before moving to the kitchen and ripping the envelope open.

"John? Who's John?"

"He's a Captain serving in Afghanistan."

"Oh! Is he an old friend then?" She said in an excited tone.

"No, never met him." he said plainly.

"Never met—OH!" She said and jumped in glee. "Have you found a pen pal? Oh, it's good to know those still exist!"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for bringing the mail. Feel free to bring tea later. Good bye" he said.

"Oh, alright. I see," she started "you need to read your letter from 'John' in peace." she said with a smirk.

"_Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson." _Sherlock said more firmly.

Mrs. Hudson just giggled and left the room.

"Watson!" Bill yelled from afar.

"You have another letter from lover boy!" Bill said and dropped the envelope on John's face.

"He is not my _lover boy_." John said before taking the envelope and stuffing it under his pillow.

"Aw, well, aren't you gonna read it?" Bill said as he plopped down on his own bunk.

"Maybe later" John said and draped his arm over his eyes.

"Can't read it with people around, huh?" Bill said with a smirk. "Well, sorry to break the bad news but it's hard to find a moment's peace around here!"

"Shut it!" John said and threw a pillow at his laughing friend.

"Seriously though! This guy writes to you more than your own family!"

"I don't know, Bill. He's just interesting. He's fun to talk to." John said and smiled under his arm.

"God, John, you sound like a teenage girl. It's almost heart-warming" Bill said and dramatically placed his palms on his chest.

"I didn't mean it that way! He just has interesting stories."

"_Interesting?" _Bill said and sat up. "We're in the middle of war! What's happening right next door could be _really _interesting."

"But this guy's a detective! _Consulting _detective, he says. He solves crimes and can read people from just one look!" John said.

"Ah," Bill said and smiled. "Looks like you're completely besotted. Congratulations, mate!"

"Urgh!" John said and covered his face with a pillow. "I don't even know why I bother to explain to you."

At that, Bill just laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

Because of Mrs. Hudon's lectures and ramblings, Sherlock was _convinced _(more like _forced_) to take the bedroom in 221B. He argued that it would go to waste, as he was fine with sleeping on the couch. But with Sherlock's line of work, he would be needing the rest.

Under the _unused_ bed in Sherlock's _unused _room, there were two boxes. One box, really just an old cookie tin, was filled with letters from a certain army doctor in Afghanistan. The second, an old tea tin, housed numerous unsent letters—letters that Sherlock never planned on sending

_John Watson –_

_You have proved to be very interesting. I do hope to meet you someday._

_(random scribbles)_

_(The paper is crumpled.)_

_John Watson—_

_Do you have family in London? Do they write as often as I do? I'm guessing not. You hinted that they were 'distant.' _

_Why do you write to me so often? Why not to them?_

_John,_

_Assuming I am correct, you are unwed. Though what I cannot deduce is if you have a lover waiting for you. Do you? Do they write to you as well? Am I sharing your free time with a lover of yours? I do apologise if that is the case. _

_John, _

_I may find you more than 'just' interesting. _

_(scribbled over and crumpled)_

_John, _

_When are you coming back? Will you agree to meet me when you do? Can we be friends?_

_(crossed out and crumpled)_

_John, _

_There is a bedroom upstairs if you're in need of a place to stay when you get back._

_John,_

_I lo—_

_(crossed out with the words, "STUPID. STUPID. STUPID," at the bottom)_


	7. Chapter 7

John was excited. A new batch of mail came in and he was in the middle of writing a reply to his penpal.

S. Holmes,

Oh, come on! I refuse to believe that a man as 'posh' as you could be named "Sheeza!" I've told you my name ages ago! I should at least know yours! No matter what it is, I'm sure it'll be wonderful.

John stared at the sentence he just wrote and crossed it out. He couldn't let his penpal know that. He wouldn't admit it but, he was really starting to lo—

"WATSON!" a voice yelled.

"We need you out there! There's been an ambush! Move, soldier!"

John scrambled to get his things in order before rushing out.

"White, look out!" John called.

"Oof—oh god, thanks, mate."

"No pro—"

"Watson? What's wrong?

**"WATSON?!"**

John woke up to a familiar face.

"Bill?"

"You'll be okay, mate" Bill said. It was obvious that he was forcing to keep his emotions intact. "You'll be okay."

And with that, John was unconscious.


	8. Chapter 8

S. Holmes from 221B. That was all John could remember. After two weeks in multiple hospitals and infirmaries, it was hard to remember anything else. John wasn't an idiot. He knew what all the procedures would lead to. He wasn't sure of his exact location but he was sure that it was miles away from Afghanistan.

John. What has happened to _his _army doctor? Dread filled Sherlock's veins as he soon realised that John was writing from a warzone. Sherlock knew how fast a bullet could kill.

221B? What good with those numbers be. Without a street, heck, without his sodding _first name, _John's chances of meeting his soul mate pen pal were slim.

With the little he's been getting from his army pension, he soon realised that he would be needing a job. It would help with 'adjusting back into civilian life,' as his therapist puts it.

"SHERLOCK! Will you let me in?!" Lestrade shouted.

"Go away."

"You've been locked in there for weeks—"

"A month, dear" Mrs. Hudson corrected.

"A month!" Lestrade said and lowering his hand from the door.

"Will you just—can you at least come out? I won't force any cases on you but we're all genuinely worried." Lestrade said, lowering his voice.

"Oh, it's that darn boyfriend of his. 'John.' They've been writing for months! Haven't seen a letter from him since Sherlock lock himself up."

At that, Sherlock opened the door and said, "GO AWAY… please."

Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson's hearts melted. Sherlock was a complete wreak. His robe was undone and his eyes were red.

Sherlock didn't want to admit but, _he was heartbroken. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Do you really believe it was the fireman who did it? Too simple, John._

Exactly! Who else could it be? The facts clues all led to him!

_Oh, simple-minded John._

Do you think we'd be friends? You know, if I was there.

_Define 'friend,' John._

You have a brother? What's he like?

_Arse._

I didn't grow up in the city. Mum thought it was too loud. Always wanted to though. 

_Why don't you? You have your whole life ahead of you._

You really think I'd fit in London?

_Of course, John. You're a soldier not an alien._

Would it really be okay if I stayed there?

_If you really did have no place to go, I wouldn't have it any other way._

It wasn't healthy, Sherlock knew. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop recalling the letters that were sent between him and John. Oh, the plans they had. The crimes they solved. Solving crimes through the post wasn't exactly very _time efficient_ but it did entertain him (and John) when it came to cold cases.

Two months after the mysterious "disappearance" of his John, Sherlock decided to face the facts: John was either avoiding him or—

John was dead.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a bright and sunny day in Sherlock's point of view. In truth, it was a gloomy and sad day. Unknown robberies were popping up from different corners of London. Lestrade's head was at its breaking point. Sherlock, on the other hand, was happier than he has been in months.

"BREAKING NEWS: London's banks closed for today to make way for suspicious and continuous robberies."

"That doesn't sound too good," a girl's voice said from behind.

"Oh, Sarah," John said as he turned. "Yeah, seems like they've got a lot on their hands lately."

"Actually, John, because of this whole mess, _we've_ got a lot on our hands too. I've been meaning to tell you. Can you take extra shifts in the emergency department? They've been sending ambulances back and forth from those crime scenes." Sarah said as she walked to her desk.

"Oh?" John said as he looked away from the television again, "Oh, sure. I really don't have anything better to do, to be honest." John said with a sheepish smile.

"You seem to be really interested in those robberies, eh?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

"I—no" John stammered.

She giggled. "No matter. Good that you're on board. I'll send you your shift schedule in a while. Thanks, John." She said before walking away.

John smiled and sighed once she was out of the room. He loved his new job but, it never filled the whole inside him. He still felt empty.

"'_Inspector Lestrade! May we have a few words?'_

'Look, if it's about the robberies, talk to him, alright? I really don't feel like it right now'

_'Confirmed by Inspector Lestrade himself! We're here live to report to you that Inspector Lestrade's team has been working with Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!'"_

John's neck might have snapped at that. Once the reporter said the name 'Holmes,' his eyes were glued to the television.

_"'Anything about the cases, Mr. Holmes?'_

'Go away. I have no time for this'"

John's heart leapt. God, that was him.


	11. Chapter 11

It was another normal, _boring_, day at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock, after solving crime after crime, has actually found time to lay down and sleep. On the couch of course. God forbid if he had to sleep in his room. Too far away from his mould experiment. Besides, Sherlock couldn't bear to even see a glimpse of his bed. No way. Not with him knowing about the two dusty and neglected boxes that lay underneath. He didn't want to remember the days when he was _happy. _He didn't want to remember that he had a, what he believed was a, friend. No, he had something more special. He had a _John._

John was crazy. He was going loony trying to find this man. Good thing he lived alone. Otherwise, people might really start to wonder why he was on the floor with mountains of newspapers around him.

Sherlock Holmes. It _had _to be him. Who else would give comments as snarky as him? John just knew he was on the right track. Now that he was on this search, he knew that he had to find Sherlock Holmes.

New Scotland Yard. That was it! It was on all the papers. John linked that with all the cases that this man has solved, he solved under New Scotland Yard. That's it! He must have worked with them. If he was right, S. Holmes never liked working on the police force. He was just open for _consultations._

Tuesday morning. It was perfect. The clinic was overflowing with new interns lately. He needed this free day. Unlike the normal person though, he was spending his day-off outside New Scotland Yard. Just waiting and watching.

John was waiting. He was waiting on a bench that was just outside and had finished his fish and chips an hour ago. He was getting really tired of this. Suddenly, someone noticed his constant stare on the door.

"You waiting for someone?" said a woman with curly hair. She approached him.

"Ah, yes. I was hoping to catch Sherlock Holmes." John said as he looked up at her and slowly stood up.

"Ha! That freak? He doesn't work here. As if we'd ever let him work here. He'll just ruin our work environment."

"Oh.." John said and looked away. "I'll just—" John cleared his throat and voice from disappointment, "be on my way then. Thanks."

"No problem. He might pass by our morgue though. He's a freak like that. Have a nice day." she said and walked back into the building.

Sherlock was pumping with adrenaline. He just bought a new pack of nicotine patches. Lovely. He needed a case. Now. Sherlock hoped onto a cab and made his way to New Scotland Yard. Hopefully he could annoy Lestrade enough to give him a case.

Damn cabbies. Always taking the long route to try and get more money out of you. No matter, after a thorough yelling about the "stupidity" and "incompetence" of the driver, Sherlock finally made it to his destination.

"Ah, the smell of mindless individuals." Sherlock said with a deep inhale. "Oh, it's just you, Anderson. Good afternoon."

"_Always a pleasure."_ Anderson said with distaste.

"Break it up, you two. After barely a minute from walking in here, you already got them on their toes. What do you want?" Lestrade said as he was massaging his temples.

"A case! You must be working on something!" Sherlock said as he was throwing his hands in the air.

"Look Sher—"

"I knew I heard that freak's voice." Donovan said as she walked into the room and placed a stack of papers on Lestrade's desk.

"More?" Lestrade asked with a sigh.

"That Potts case really has us buried." she replied.

"Oh, Potts case? Let's do that then." At this point, it was hard to tell the difference between Sherlock and a five year old.

"Oh, you have _enough _excitement in your life, Mr. Popular." Donovan said with a smirk. "What with all the fans? You must be practically _buried _in your own set of papers."

"Fans? What on earth are you talking about? Now about that case—"

"You name's all over the papers! Of course you'd have fans! Bordering on stalkers, if you ask me. I mean just a while ago, I had to chase away some man outside who was waiting—"

"A man?" Sherlock asked.

"Yup. Had some muscle on him too. Looks like you attract all sorts." she said with a wink.

"Ugh. Please let her leave. Her voice is hurting my brain." Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

"Fine," she said and raised her hands in surrender, "I'll go. But I'm telling you, you're famous."

"Fans," Sherlock thought, "how tedious."

A/N: I completely understand if everyone wants to go throw things at me. I've left this story for a month! God, but what an awful month it was. I had my finals, I was editing my school's paper, and don't even get me started on Holy Week. Everyone in my family is a devout Christian and they really went all out in "celebrating" this year. So sorry again :( Don't worry. I feel _awful. _I really do wish I started this in the Summer so I'd have more consistent updates.


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